


Silent and breathless

by Cinnamaldeide



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Post-Season/Series 03, Revised Version, aesthetic included
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 16:37:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20450228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnamaldeide/pseuds/Cinnamaldeide
Summary: Not even water ruined Hannibal’s handsomeness.For the Hannibal Cre-Ate-Ive’s #ItsStillBeautiful





	Silent and breathless

**Author's Note:**

> _Mizu mo shitataru ii otoko_, a curious Japanese idiom saying that someone is so handsome that even water can’t ruin someone’s beauty. Many thanks to [Another_lost_one](https://archiveofourown.org/users/another_lost_one) for having beta read this work, which is will probably be included in a book I’m planning to publish ❀

Will came in just to leave a folded towel for Hannibal to dry himself after his shower. The plastic curtain with its ugly flower pattern, though, had been left aside.

Steam was all that covered Hannibal’s naked, wet skin. Will found himself transfixed by the sight. He hadn’t intended to look, yet could merely gape and stare, unable to avert his eyes nor get out of the bathroom.

Unaware, Hannibal kept lathering his chest, his shoulders, his lower back. He couldn’t quite reach the Verger’s brand, Will noticed. “Let me help,” he said before he knew it.

When Will touched him, gathering suds with his hand to run it where Hannibal couldn’t, it felt like unearthing a fantasy Will never suspected of and giving it sensorial dimension, like entering a dream.

It was sordid. It was self-indulgent.

Will could discern it was real by the way Hannibal leaned on the tiles, fatigued and sore after their recent escape. Will had covered their traces, but could barely calm his nerves.

Seeing the shift of muscles under his palm, Will felt compelled to taste it, smell it. Implement his experience with the whole asset of his senses. So he bent forward.

There was a small patch of skin for Will to sample. He tongued it. He bit it lightly. He admired stray droplets of water running beside the strip of his own saliva. Hannibal had yet to comment on his behaviour, which encouraged Will to proceed.

He cupped some water to rinse larger portions of skin, mouthed at those to his leisure.

“Ah,” was the sole sound Hannibal produced within that minute. Will didn’t investigate on its nature, whether it was caused by pain or pleasure, just endeavoured to replicate it. His attention expanded to Hannibal’s tense limbs, his deep breaths, his accommodating pose. He was enjoying himself, Will was sure. So he let himself become bolder.

Bringing a hand to Hannibal’s neck, Will plastered himself against his back, soaking his own shirt without regard for the fabric. He supported Hannibal’s body with his own while touching his tendon, his clavicle, his hirsute breastbone. Then lower still.

His cock stood proudly erect. Will’s mirrored it, constricted in his drenched pants. There was so much skin on display, yet baring the head of its foreskin felt illicit.

Will wasn’t sure Hannibal would have protested under different conditions. Had his side ached less, were their role reversed, Hannibal would have dictated their tempo. As it was, Will was in control, running his fingers on Hannibal’s length with spectacular firmness against his own expectations.

He wanted to see Hannibal come, Will realized. Neither of them had turned the water off. “I didn’t plan to go so far,” Will admitted, reluctant to dispel their stiff silence, unable to refrain himself, “I just entered and,” he struggled, feeling exposed and raw, “couldn’t resist.” He pressed their cheeks together, wondering if Hannibal found his light stubble irritating against his skin.

If nothing else, Hannibal seemed to appreciate his words of humiliating honesty. “I always encouraged you to get intimate with your instincts,” he answered, a touch more breathless than normal.

Will’s hand was covered in his spent soon after. He drank in astonishment Hannibal’s sighs and tremors, then let the water wash it off of his palm in a daze.

Will was soaked and hard in his clothes by the time Hannibal could stand on his own two legs again. Will wasn’t offered reciprocation, which suited him just fine. Their experience had been overwhelming enough as it was.

•

Based on Hannibal’s fastidiousness for order and cleanliness, Will assumed that the majority of his sumptuous mansion in Baltimore had been regularly dusted, vacuumed, sweeped and mopped by a very efficient cleaning service. Twice a week, in Will’s estimation, with religious thoroughness. It wouldn’t do for his den to present evidence of imperfection.

After the fall, it was just the two of them. Lone, bruised middle-aged men with no aptitude whatsoever for cohabitation, ill-equipped to stand each other for a significant period of time. The first month of convalescence, between heavy medications and light, bland meals, had been a nightmare Will wasn’t sure he would wake up from.

Afterwards, despite his condition, Hannibal had stoically limped around their modest habitation with a broom, and scrupulously cleaned their windows. It stood to reason that Hannibal had an aversion for messes, organic or otherwise, and preferred to relieve himself in the shower.

“You don’t have to reciprocate,” Will immediately declared when Hannibal got out of the bathroom, a succinct towel wrapped around his waist. It sounded as if Will wanted to pretend like nothing unusual had occurred, almost reflexively defensive. Maybe that was the case. “I don’t know what possessed me,” he repeated, still unwilling to meet his gaze.

It would be ludicrous to presume an orgasm could mollify Hannibal and lessen his instinct to tease and poke in search of answers, but he accepted the lame words Will offered and silently retreated to his room.

•

They didn’t speak about that episode ever after. Despite their frequent showers, their routine never led to the same circumstances, nor could a repetition of their experience warrant a solid explanation in case either of them intended to pass it for an incident. But Will couldn’t help wondering whether Hannibal reached his brand whenever he soaped himself, if there was a precise water temperature he preferred before standing under the stream, if he touched himself, and how he liked to do that.

So Will decided to stir the situation himself.

“Don’t say a word,” he requested, closing the bathroom door behind himself, Hannibal already shirtless and unbuckling his trousers. “Just keep going.”

Will had to admit to himself he’d missed the thrill of the forbidden, of the  _ salacious _ , of bidding Hannibal to act upon his wish and get utter complicity in return. For whatsoever reason Hannibal submitted to his request, Will was grateful and quietly appreciative, as his eyes slid over Hannibal’s unapologetic nudity. His long legs, his firm glutes, his strong back, his loose hair, his lean feet. He’d missed the sight, hadn’t even realised he’d internalised and absorbed it like an avid sponge.

Unbuttoning his own shirt and letting it pool idly on the tiled floor, Will approached him with indolent steps, baring himself along the brief way. He’d missed the touch as well.

When Hannibal entered the shower, Will followed suit, letting the warm water soak them both and wash their remnant modesty away.

Hannibal needn’t be asked for soap, rather waited for Will’s hand, palm upwards and expectant. He poured a sufficient amount to wash his own hair and Will started massaging his scalp with circular strokes. It gave Will a sense of calm, as foam grew between his fingers.

Belatedly he realised Hannibal had been mirroring his motion.

“This is absurd,” Will couldn’t refrain from commenting. He enjoyed it immensely, the whole scene reminded him of their rise above oceanic waves, at the roof of that memorable cliff, as their frantic hands assessed damages, ensured their companion was alive, the air in their lungs  _ real _ .

Without lowering his gaze, Will knew he’d achieved an erection at the thought, albeit not urgent nor persistent, a mere strain of flesh. He would have ignored it entirely in favour of continuing his deed if Hannibal’s hadn’t proudly stood beside his own. Will paused to appraise Hannibal’s mind. He read the same lack of concern in his penetrating gaze, so Will kept going.

Until his hunger for contact was sated and his fingertips longed for something else. “Turn around,” Will instructed, but Hannibal held his stance. Held his gaze, defiant and complicit, suggestively so. Will didn’t waste time filling one of his hand with Hannibal’s stiff shaft and his dense chest hair with the other. “If you’ll excuse me,” Will inquired, provocative, tilting his head.

Hannibal grabbed his aching penis with a daring smirk in response. Will wasn’t proud of the low moan elicited by his move. He wasn’t proud of the following sequence of undignifying sounds sprouting from his mouth, as Hannibal ran his calloused palm over his length, squeezing him closer with a possessive arm around Will’s waist. He  _ was  _ proud of Hannibal’s laboured breath, his unfocussed gaze, his trembling knees as he approached and achieved his climax, Will coming on his pelvis soon after. It had been mesmerizing, entirely captivating, like the first time Hannibal orgasmed at Will’s hand, in that very same shower. Will barely realised they had run out of hot water in the meanwhile.

“Bigger boiler in the next safe house,” Will lamented, kissing Hannibal instead of granting him permission to speak again.

He had a fastidious tendency to lie anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a thing for showers, let me be.  
I wasn’t kidding about the book. Let me know if you’re interested, or if you spot errors I should fix.  
[Find me elsewhere](https://cinnamaldeide.carrd.co). [Post on Twitter](https://twitter.com/cinnamaldeide/status/1167440950446186498?s=20).


End file.
